“Let’s not, okay?”
Her shoulders slouched as she nodded. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head and rested the back of it against the wall. I felt powerless. Hopeless. Angry. Selfish. Guilty. Cruel. I should have supported her decision, but that felt too much like giving up on her—on us. How would I explain this to our son in the future if she lost this fight? I couldn’t even think about that.
At the sound of the door opening, my eyes popped open. At the sight of Doctor Williams’s somber expression, Iknew what the results were before the words even left her mouth. The news was choppy as it went in one ear and out of the other. Lymphoma. Stage one. In her chest. Chemo port. I jumped up from the seat so hard and fast it tipped over. Storming out of the room, I could barely contain my anger as I briskly stalked down the hall and out of the clinic.
The second I was outside, I roared and repeatedly punched the brick wall. Not even the sight of my blood on it made me stop. I didn’t stop until tears blurred my eyes. Sobbing, I slid down the wall.
“Fuck!” I yelled. “How could You? I trusted You with her life and You do this? Youknowshe doesn’t want to fight. I know she’s amazing, but You can’t have her. Not yet! We got a son to raise. A life to live.” My yells turned into a whimper when I repeated, “You can’t have her yet.”
I didn’t think anything could top losing my father, . . . the man who taught me everything I knew. The man we named our son after. But this? Just the thought of losing my wife . . . the shit made me literally sick to my stomach. Standing, I jogged over to the black garbage can and emptied the contents of my stomach until nothing else came out. I stood upright and wiped my mouth before going to the car.
After rinsing my mouth out with water, I tossed two mints inside and drove to the Walgreens that was on the corner to get a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash. By the time I was done brushing my teeth and had driven back to the clinic, I figured Eyela would be done with her appointment. As soon as I saw her standing at the check-out counter, more guilt consumed me. I hated leaving her, but I had to get that shit out of me. The only way I’d be ableto hold space for her emotions was to empty myself of mine.
Wrapping my arm around her, I kissed the top of her head. She tensed slightly before relaxing against me. Once she was done handling her business, I led her outside to the car. I waited until we were inside to say, “I’m sorry for leaving. I needed a moment, but I should have been there with you.”
“It’s okay,” she mumbled, looking out of the window. “I know this is hard for you.”
“Yeah, but it’s harder for you.” Taking her hand into mine, I caressed it with my thumb, coaxing her gently to look at me. When she looked at me, she noticed my bruised hand. Her eyes widened and mouth dropped, but I spoke before she could question me about it. “I respect that it’s your decision, and I will stand by you, no matter what you decide.”
“You promise?” she asked sweetly.
“I promise.”
“Even if I don’t want chemo, radiation, or surgery?”
“I promise,” I repeated. “We will fight this together, however you decide. And if you don’t want to fight at all . . .” I couldn’t say the words. My throat clogged. I swallowed and hoped that would clear it, but it didn’t work. “We’ll just make the most out of the time we have.”
Her tears fell quickly as she released a shaky breath. “It is my life and my choice, but I’m sharing my life with you. You’re my partner, and I have to consider you just as you consider me.” She released a long breath, and I held on to the silence with bated breath. “I agreed to six months of chemo, Karrington, but that’s it. If that doesn’t shrink the cancer, I won’t put myself through any more than that.”
It felt like literal weights were lifted from my shoulders when she said that. My tears fell immediately as I pulled her into my arms. Eyes squeezed tightly, I thanked God and apologized for the way I’d spoken to Him as I held her tightly. He knew how I felt even without me having to say the shit, but I could have packaged it a little better. Gripping her cheeks, I kissed her lips and thanked her for fighting for her life.
For our life.
For our son.
Eyela
Six Months Later
Today was a joyous occasion. I’d beat cancer a sixth time and got to ring the bell at the clinic. All my and Karrington’s family was here, and our friends were too. As I held Gio, I rang the bell with tears running down my cheeks. I’d meant it when I said I didn’t want to do chemo again, but I also loved my family, my life, and I couldn’t not fight to be here with them. Regardless of how it weakenedme, depressed me, changed me, . . . if God saw fit to heal me, I’d fight to stay.
I wasn’t sure why I was given this lot in life, but every time the cancer left my body, I felt a bit closer to Him yet more grounded to the Earth. More alive. Happier to still be here. More grateful for this thing called life.
When my doctor closed the incision where my port was, she was hopeful it wouldn’t come back. The last time it did, they gave me a 96 percent chance that it wouldn’t come back if I had the surgery. This time around, it was smaller, and it didn’t spread, so that was a good thing. Even with her being hopeful that it wouldn’t come back, I knew that was really up to God.
As soon as I was done ringing the bell, I made my way to my husband. He took me and our son into his arms and kissed me. After thanking me for fighting, he set me back on my feet and allowed everyone else to embrace me.
This time around, I had a strong will to live.
Between my husband and son and the friends turned family I’d gained through Karrington, I had people praying and supporting me every step of the way. I was often too overwhelmed by gratitude of their support to be consumed by fear or depression. My symptoms, though light, were present. I didn’t lose my hair this time, and the nausea and lack of an appetite didn’t cause me to lose a large amount of weight like it did in the past.
I didn’t know what was in store for our future, but in this moment, I was taking life day by day and determined to make the most of it.
Bully
Everything was everything.
My wife had given birth to our son, Gabriel Junior.
